prim was our gentlest and sweetest chicken. she was the one who cooed, and didn’t ever squawk or sing raucous laying songs. she approached her food daintily and slowly, and so got bullied away from the feed pail or the kitchen scraps by her bigger, bossier sisters. she occasionally wandered into the house to talk softly to herself and peck at crumbs on the kitchen floor. she had the most beautiful feathers of all of our birds: rich ginger with white lacing on her back. last fall she started to spend a lot of time alone, fluffed up and still. by the time winter came, she had diarrhea, and we couldn’t seem to find a way to stop it. she spent the last two weeks in the warmth of the house, perched on the arm of our couch, looking at the evening fire with us, still as sweet as ever, but obviously reaching a stage where she was never going to get back outside again. we realized that we were no longer operating a hospital, but a hospice, and one night she was so weak that she had trouble standing up to eat the grapes that were the last food she ever seemed to crave. as we went to bed that night, she seemed not even to have the energy to pull her wings in tight to her body. we woke up the next morning, and she was lying peacefully on her side. we’ll miss our shy, unobtrusive beauty.

feather from our golden buff chicken Prim

saint paul, minnesota